


People Like Us

by ponticle



Series: Black Emporium 2017 [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Old Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: Captain Alistair Theirin of the Starship Bravery has just captured the fugitive, Anders. This should be a time for congratulations, but Alistair is wracked with guilt.For Earlgreyer's Black Emporium request: Alistair/Anders, all the tropes, 'put them in space.' <3





	People Like Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Earlgreyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earlgreyer/gifts).



* * *

“Captain's log: Stardate 41256.7. We picked up Anders today. He's in a holding cell on deck 5, but I haven't been to see him yet. I'm not ready.”

Alistair pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Computer, erase that last entry.”

 _Entry erased_.

“Captain’s log: Stardate 41256.7. The prisoner is in the brig following a multiple-month chase across three star systems and a myriad of complications. The crew was restless near the end, but they performed admirably. Lieutenant Commander Lavellan and Commander Rutherford, in particular. I’m predicting bright futures for both of them—possibly together.” Alistair smiles. “Computer, erase those last two words.”

 _Sentence_ _erased_.

“But after all this time, we’ve captured Anders. It feels… anticlimactic, in some way, although I doubt Admiral Mac Tir will think so.” He laughs to himself, “Anora has always had a proclivity toward public displays of power… I always thought she would have done better in the Romulan Empire—”

Alistair is about to tell the computer to _erase_ that, for the third time, when a beep alerts him to someone at the door.

“Come in.”

“Captain?”

“Yes, Dr. Pavus?” Alistair smiles and gestures for Dorian to sit. Since his assignment last year, Dorian has really grown on Alistair—they’ve become fast friends.

“I’ve just finished examining the prisoner… and…” Dorian wipes a hand across his brow nervously. “I think you’d better have a look at this…” He drops a datapad on the desk between them.

“What…” Alistair struggles to understand what he’s looking at. “What _is_ this?”

Dorian purses his lips and shrugs. “That’s just it, Ser… we don’t know… But I’m willing to bet it’s why the higher ups were so keen to capture him...”

Their eyes meet for a minute. Alistair knows he’s right, but he’s reticent to agree so quickly. Bureaucracy notwithstanding, he tries to give Command the benefit of the doubt—within reason.

“Have Anders transferred to sick bay. I’ll meet you there,” says Alistair. He stands and crosses the room, ushering Dorian out before he has a chance to argue, which he looks like he’s about to do.

“Dr. Pavus…” Alistair repeats, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll meet you _there_.”

Dorian nods and straightens. He’s still young; Alistair notices it in times like these. When he was first approached by Command to take on a brand new physician as his Chief Medical Officer, he was skeptical, no matter how prodigious his work at the academy was. But now… Dorian has shown himself to be a valuable member of the crew—tough when it counts. Alistair knows he’ll rise to the occasion this time too.

When Dorian has gone, Alistair catches his own reflection in a mirror. The last time he saw Anders, he looked so different. He leans closer to the glass and runs his fingers over new lines—there seem to be more every day. He imagines Anders has them too… a life on the run ages a person… but in Alistair’s mind, Anders’ skin is still young and smooth...Anders laughs and smiles; his hair flops into his eyes and he pushes it back with the fingers of one hand. It all feels like another lifetime now.

“Computer, resume personal log,” he says, still eyeing his reflection.

_Recording resumed._

“I’m not looking forward to seeing him, but wearing four pips means making hard decisions; doing things I don’t want to do.” He runs his fingers over the metal on his collar. “The guilt still sneaks up on me when I least expect it…” he mumbles. He thinks about erasing it, but doesn’t. He blinks and swallows. “When I see Anders, I don’t know what I’ll say, but that’s not my problem. _He’s_ the one who ran.”

 

Down in Sick Bay, the air feels eerily still. Alistair comes around the corner, walking fast, and almost collides with Lieutenant Pentaghast.

“Ser.” She stands resolutely even though he has managed to nearly knock her over. “Dr. Pavus asked me to stay. The prisoner is behind a forcefield in treatment room 3.”

Alistair nods to her. She has been his Tactical Officer since he first took control of the Starship Bravery. “Thanks,” he says. Then, as an aside, “Are you in for wicked grace later?”

She smiles and gestures with her eyes to a few Ensigns under her direct command. “I’d _never_ gamble, Ser.” She winks.

“Of course not.” He smiles, but his face feels tight. He feels it freeze further when he looks down the hallway. There he is: Anders. He’s sitting on the floor next to the sterile examination table. His back is against the wall.

Alistair approaches him warily. He stops just short of the barrier, which is buzzing annoyingly. He makes a mental note to talk to the Chief about that later, but only as a coping mechanism: he’s about to see _Anders_ for the first time in over a decade.

“It’s been a long time,” says Alistair quietly.

Anders doesn’t look up; in fact, he doesn’t even move. If Alistair didn’t know better, he’d wonder if he was a hologram—he’s barely even breathing.

“I have a few questions, Anders,” continues Alistair. He has begun to pace without expressly meaning to. Still, he thinks it sends the right message: that he _doesn’t care_ ; that this is all routine. “First and foremost, why did you do it?”

At that, Anders looks up. His eyes seem to burn blue for a second, but as soon as Alistair blinks, it’s gone—a trick of the light, he’s sure.

“I’m happy to sit here in your Sick Bay, Al,” says Anders. “Let your doctor have fun with his tricorder; let the historians come gawk at me; postulate about why I turned to a life of crime, but I don’t have anything to say about the incident… not to _you_.”

Alistair feels his stomach twist; he doesn’t let it show, though. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Anders… but you don’t have a choice.”

Anders rolls his eyes. It’s the same type of infuriating thing he would have done _before_ … back then… when they were on the same side. 

Anders seems to sense the repetition too; he sneers. “I already chose, Al. So did you.”  There’s a tense silence, then Anders looks away.

“Dr. Pavus is going to run some tests and when he’s done, we’ll talk again,” says Alistair. He starts to leave, but pauses when Anders stands up and approaches the forcefield.

“I’ll tell you what he’s going to find,” says Anders daringly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Call it revolutionary largess.” He smirks. “There’s an unregistered A.I. implanted in my head… sophisticated piece of tech, that.”

Alistair’s eyes widen.

“And before you get your panties in a twist about human rights violations, it’s not anything like that. I wasn’t coerced,” adds Anders. “I just know how to do the right thing when I see it…” He lets the sentence trail off, but Alistair knows what the rest of it would have been: _unlike some people_.

“Well, I guess Dr. Pavus will confirm that,” says Alistair. He leaves the room like he’s rushing to _something_ , but he isn’t. He just has to get out. This isn’t the Anders he knew.

 

Several hours later, the tests confirm Anders’ story. The question of _why_ is still hanging in the balance, but Alistair can’t _begin_ to answer that. It doesn’t matter; there are more pressing matters to attend to. In the time between leaving Anders in Sick Bay and turning back around to go find him again, Alistair receives a series of transmissions from Command—their tone borders on threatening. They all boil down to a set of instructions: Anders is an asset; take him to the Vyrantium System; use whatever’s in his head to open something locked; _do it alone._ It’s one of the most direct, yet mysterious, orders Alistair has received in his entire time captaining a starship; he knows it must be important. Unfortunately, he also has the impression that information he probably needs is being withheld. He tries to shrug it off as he approaches Sick Bay for the second time today.

“Anders?” calls Alistair.

This time, Anders is lying down on the examination table. His arm is flopped over his eyes, but Alistair knows he’s awake.

“Anders, I need to talk to you.”

Anders moves his arm slowly and props it under his head. “Yes, Dear?” He smirks.

Alistair huffs almost imperceptibly. “We’re going on a trip…”

“We?” Anders sits up, drawing his knees into his chest.

“Yeah… You and me.”

A smile glides across Anders’ lips—it’s perversely attractive; Alistair tries not to notice. “Just like old times, huh, Al?”

“You know, they call me Captain, typically…” says Alistair. He doesn’t know _why_. It’s not as if this kind of prodding is going to make Anders more agreeable. If anything, it will probably have the opposite effect, but it happens.

“They do… but _I_ won’t.  You’re not _my_ Captain,” says Anders. His smile fades and Alistair is left feeling hollow. He remembers that smile and all its other iterations. It’s a smile he loved.

 

* * *

**15 Years Ago**

“Stop! Al, you’re nuts,” hisses Anders.

Alistair cackles, banking the shuttle craft port—hard. He’s just showing off at this point. “Come on, babe, you know I’m a hell of a pilot.”

Anders grabs the console on his side of the ship hard and tries not to fall over. “Okay, I swear to god, I will not save you if you injure yourself doing this kind of shit.”

Alistair laughs again, but slows to thrusters only. “You’re such a wet blanket.”

“I’m a doctor, Al… not a racecar driver,” says Anders. He’s laughing, though.

“I had no idea… you never tell _anyone_ about your accomplishments,” teases Alistair. He lets the ship coast and turns in his chair to look at Anders. “I love you, you know.”

Anders laughs. “I think you should stop trying to _kill_ me if that’s true.” He leans in and kisses Alistair’s cheek. “...but I’ll love you either way.”

 

* * *

**Presently**

“Did you hear me?” asks Anders sharply. “Where the hell are we going?”

The contrast makes Alistair’s chest ache. Seeing Anders now, behind that forcefield, too-long hair in his eyes, it’s hard to remember the young impressionable doctor who kissed him goodnight and made sure he ate at regular intervals, whose attention was totally fixed on helping people in the outer colonies—on protecting the weak and defenseless.

“To a remote colony on Vyrantium Prime,” answers Alistair quietly. He closes his eyes; he can’t see Anders’ reaction, but he imagines it anyway.

“I see…” says Anders. He stands up and walks toward the barrier. “So they’re expecting me to give up the location of the rebel base?” That glint in his eye is back for a second, but Alistair still can’t put his finger on what it reminds him of.

They stare at each other. It seems like a contest of will, but eventually Anders blinks and looks away.

“We’ll be within transporter range tomorrow,” says Alistair. “I suggest you get some sleep while you can. We’re going to have work to do once we get on the ground.”

Anders cocks his head. “What exactly do you want from me?”

Alistair rolls his eyes. “You’re an _expert_ on the underground… Command wants—”

“That’s not what I asked,” interrupts Anders. “What do _you_ want?”

Alistair’s voice dies in his throat. He opens his mouth, but doesn’t know what to say. “Get some rest, Anders. I mean it.”

Silently cursing himself, he leaves.

 

In the hallway, he runs into Dorian. He looks like he has something to say, but he’s debating whether or not now is the right time.

“Come on, out with it, Doc.” Alistair manages to smile even though he feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Well… Captain…” Dorian looks down at the floor between them. “I was wondering… if… I could take some time to ask _him_ some questions…” He looks over Alistair’s shoulder to where Anders is being held.

Alistair squints.

“It’s just that… his research was required reading at the Academy… and… I know he’s done some things—I know he’s not who he was once—but I think I could learn so much from him…” continues Dorian.

“Whatever you want,” says Alistair dismissively.

Dorian looks surprised. “Really?”

Alistair nods.

“Thank you, Ser… I didn’t expect that… what with your history and everything…” he seems to suddenly realize he’s rambling into unknown territories and stops talking abruptly—almost mid-word.

“Yes… well…” Heretofore, Alistair wasn’t sure that people as young as Dorian would know about that, but he supposes tragic love stories spread like wildfire—particularly when the details are a matter of public record.  “It’s fine… Do what you need to.” Without another word, he leaves.

 

All night, Alistair is plagued by nightmares. They’re all variations on the theme of Anders behind that forcefield, telling Alistair what a sell-out he is. He wakes up well before his alarm goes off and stares at the ceiling, wrestling with himself. Before he knows it, the computer announces they’ve arrived.

Anders is sullen during his entire transfer. In fact, until they’re alone in the shuttle, he doesn’t so much as _look_ at Alistair. Of course, Alistair doesn’t know what he’d say either way. It’s almost a blessing.

“Well?” asks Anders when they’ve pulled away from the docking bay.

Alistair looks over at him. He’s holding his hands out; they’re still in cuffs.

“Oh…” Alistair sets in a course and unlocks the cuffs. Anders rubs his wrists gingerly. They’re raw.

“Do you want me to get you anything for that?” asks Alistair. He reaches out and cups Anders’ left wrist without thinking. For about two seconds, it seems like the most natural thing in the world.

Anders rips his hand back and cradles it against his chest. “No. I’m fine.”

Alistair nods, sadly. “We’ve got a couple hours before we’re within range of the drop site.

Anders looks utterly nonplussed. It reminds Alistair of another expression he once wore.

 

* * *

**15 Years Ago**

Alistair’s mouth goes dry and his stomach twists. _Anders_.

“...today, for the first time, his parents speak out in an exclusive interview...” the newscaster is saying.

Alistair turns up the volume and leans in as pictures of Anders’ face splash across the display—his childhood, the day he graduated from medical school, and then… in the middle of a riot... It’s the first time Alistair has seen him since he left three months ago.

The whole piece is about Anders’ ‘ _dubious choices_ ’ and ‘ _the people he left behind_.’ It’s propaganda—plain and simple.

“Let this serve as a cautionary tale,” the voiceover says. Alistair can’t stand to listen, but he can’t seem to turn it off either. He only hears every third or fourth phrase: ‘…even other officers didn’t see it coming,’ ‘his friends and family were shocked,’ ‘loved ones left to pick up the pieces.’

The pies de resistance is an interview with Anders’ parents. Alistair knows them, of course… but he hasn’t had the heart to call. Now he _wishes_ he had… Anders’ mother is crying as she holds up a framed picture from last winter; they all look so _happy_. She doesn’t mention Alistair by name, but she vaguely refers to him: ‘he even lied to his partner.’

But he didn’t lie… that was the one thing he _never_ did...

           

* * *

**Presently**

Before Alistair completely comes back to himself, he’s aware of a blaring alarm and the smell of smoke. _That_ isn’t what broke his train of thought, though. It’s the hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt—a familiar smell and a voice he knows.

“Anders?” He blinks. For a split second, he thinks he’s back in their apartment. Anders could be explaining that he burned breakfast and they’ll have to go out…

...but he _isn’t_.

“Alistair, what the hell are you doing?” yells Anders.

“What’s happening?” Even as he says it, he starts to put the pieces together. There’s smoke coming from the center console; the computer is announcing loss of altitude; Anders looks pale.

“We hit a quantum mine,” says Anders.

Alistair jumps up and stumbles toward the helm, despite the pitching and yawing of the ship. The gravity controls are starting to fail. He punches in coordinates—tries to stabilize the ship—but it’s no use. Before he’s even finished running through a mental list of possible outcomes, he realizes they’re about to crash.

“Brace for impact!” yells Alistair.

Anders grabs onto a piece of the hull toward the back of the ship and waves for Alistair to stand near him. If it were any other kind of situation, Alistair would realize that this is the closest he’s been to Anders in over a decade—and how much that hurts. But it’s an emergency; he doesn’t realize a thing.

 

When the dust settles, Alistair opens the escape hatch on the bottom of the ship—they’re upside down—and climbs out. They’re in some kind of rainforest—jungle sounds fill his ears and wet leaves surround them on all sides.

“Well?” shouts Anders from the cockpit. “Where are we? Can you see anything?”

“Not really,” answers Alistair. “It’s dark.”

Anders makes a tisking noise and before Alistair can say anything else, he’s being shoved aside in the small hatch hole so that Anders can stand next to him to look out. This time, he _notices_ the proximity and for reasons unknown, he chooses not to back away. No matter how angry he is—no matter how badly this ended—being next to Anders feels like being alive.

“This is _fabulous_ , Al…” deadpans Anders. “Thank you _so_ much for bringing me here…”

Alistair rolls his eyes. “Come on, we’ve got to figure out if we can salvage the ship...or at least send out a message. I don’t think we’re anywhere near the landing site.”

Anders laughs. “You think there’s _one_ site, Al? The underground is an organization founded on secrecy… they move around—a lot.”

Alistair shrugs. He’s too focused on the way Anders’ eyes light up when he laughs, even if it _is_ a function of derision. “Come on, Anders… help me for a minute?” He ducks back down under the hatch and paws around. The emergency lights are starting to fail; that’s not a good sign.

“I think it’s fucked,” says Anders.

Alistair doesn’t bother looking up. Anders is right; the ship sustained too much damage. “Okay, grab those two packs.” He points to the emergency supply closet. “I’ll grab the tent.”

There’s more grumbling as Anders attempts to get the closet door open upside down, but it’s nothing intelligible. Eventually, amidst a variety of crashing sounds, he manages to pull out a bag of rations and emergency supplies. He throws them up the hatch and climbs out to stand on the underside of the shuttle. Alistair follows him.

Once they’re outside, Alistair shoulders the tent and a few of the things Anders retrieved. “Okay, well, it seems like this is the middle of the night…” he points to the most prominent of the moons; it hasn’t quite crested in the sky yet. “So let’s find somewhere to set up a camp and wait it out. I think we’ll do better in the day.” Alistair takes a few steps forward, off the side of the shuttle.

Anders scoffs. “You think so, huh? How do you know I won’t just kill you in the night?”

Alistair stops and turns. He’s slightly appalled and he knows his face shows it. “ _What_?”

“Well, that’s what _people_ _like_ _me_ do, isn’t it?” says Anders, hopping off the ruined shuttle. “We’re completely unpredictable…”

“I didn’t say that,” argues Alistair. “You _know_ I don’t think that…”

“Maybe _you_ don’t, but you’re pretty cosy with the people who do…” says Anders haughtily. He shakes his head. “Forget it, let’s just find your stupid campsite. I’m exhausted.”

They begin walking in silence, but Alistair’s mind is alight with memories.

 

* * *

**15 Years Ago**

“Al, you’ve got to see this,” says Anders. His voice sounds strange.

Alistair rounds the corner from the hallway into their bedroom and finds him staring at a holo-projection of a protest on an outer world.

“What is that?” asks Alistair.

“They’re rounding them up, Al,” says Anders. “...all the Alters…” He looks up at Alistair from where he’s sitting on the bed; there are tears in his eyes. “It’s just a matter of time before they come for the rest of us…”

“What?” Alistair immediately sits on the bed next to Anders and wraps his arms around him. “That’s ludicrous… you’re a Federation citizen… they can’t—”

Anders shakes his head. “You didn’t believe they’d do it in the outer rim worlds either, but look at this…”

He’s right. They had this exact discussion about non-Federation worlds just a few months ago. ‘ _You’re an idealist_ ,’ Anders had said. ‘ _You don’t know people_ ,’ he’d insisted.

Alistair watches the video clip: people screaming, fires in the streets, children crying. The ticker reads, “Peaceful demonstration turns violent when Federation steps in to mitigate Alter Rebellion.”

“They’re calling it a _rebellion_ ,” says Anders. “Do you see that?” he flaps his hand at the ticker frustratedly. “Rebellion against _what_? It’s not our fault we can do these… these _things_ …”

Alistair pulls Anders closer and kisses the side of his head. “I know, sweetheart. It’s okay. We’re going to figure this out. I _love_ you.”

...but they didn’t figure it out. Before Alistair even knew it, there were reports of a Federation Doctor-turned-revolutionary on the news… and that little apartment was just a memory.

 

* * *

**Presently**

Alistair grits his teeth against something like _guilt_. Eventually, they come to a clearing with high overhead cover. It’s the perfect kind of place to set up something small; they won’t be seen even when the sun rises.

“Let’s stop here,” says Alistair.

Anders nods without really looking at him. He drops the things he’s carrying and stares while Alistair sets up a small tent.

“So I’m meant to sleep next to you?” Anders asks eventually. “That’s cute, Al…”

“I’m going to stay up, actually…” says Alistair. “You can sleep first.”

“Fine.” Anders crawls inside the little tent and, presumably, goes to sleep.

Alistair is left in the wet, dark, unfamiliar underbrush. He doesn’t dare light a fire, so he curls into a ball against the exterior of the tent. This is becoming a disaster already. He tries to think of the possibilities for getting a message to his crew, but he will need different equipment for that. They’re basically out of options, except to continue toward their target. It would help if Alistair knew what it was; instead, he has to depend on Anders—he has to _trust_ him.

 

“Al?” Something pokes Alistair in the back—hard. “Al!”

Alistair blinks. He wasn’t really _sleeping_ , but he’s not really awake now either.

“Al, get the hell in here,” says Anders. He’s whispering, but he might as well be shouting; there is intensity in his voice.

“What? Why?” asks Alistair, even as he moves to enter the tent at its mouth. “What’s going on?”

“One, you’re a terrible guard-person; you were sleeping,” says Anders. “But two… did you hear that noise?”

Alistair tips his head, listening. It’s a whirring, mechanical sound.

“That’s an air raid,” says Anders. “They’re going to drop caustic chemicals on the ground if they see even a hint of movement. I’m assuming this tent is impervious to that kind of thing?”

Alistair nods. “Standard Federation issue…”

“Yeah, well, luckily for us, they haven’t got that kind of material out here—too expensive,” says Anders. “Pretty fucking unlucky for _them_ , though…the people who live here...”

Alistair swallows and seals the tent behind him. Now that he’s inside, he isn’t sure what to do, though; he leans back on his haunches and waits. It’s odd really… he’s a Captain now, with a complement of over two hundred. He _never_ waits for instruction, but with Anders he wants to.

“Well?” Anders raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to lie down? Your head is almost hitting the ceiling. It’s ridiculous, really—you’d think they could make these better…” Anders hits the tent wall as punctuation.

Alistair laughs, despite himself. “They’re for emergencies, not actual camping.”

Anders doesn’t smile, but his eyes light up for a split second. If Alistair didn’t know him—and his face—he wouldn’t have even noticed, but he _does_ … know him… even now, even after all these years. It’s that realization that spurs him to blurt something stupid:

“Anders, I wish things turned out differently,” he says.

Anders blinks at him. “Yeah, me too… I always _knew_ you were planning to kill me in a shuttle, I just didn’t know you’d be so blatant about it…”

“No… Anders…” He knee-walks toward him so they’re face to face in the darkness of the tent. He can still make out his features, but only barely amidst the emergency light’s long shadows. “I wish we didn’t end up like this.”

Anders opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but seems to change his mind. He shakes his head. “I think you may have a concussion; follow my finger with your eyes…” he proceeds to move his hand in an X pattern.

“I’m serious—” says Alistair.

“Go to sleep or don’t; it’s up to you,” interrupts Anders. “I’m exhausted.” He lies down and turns away from Alistair toward the tent wall.

Alistair wants to argue. He wants to push the topic until he pins him down to some kind of answer: that _Anders_ wishes things were different too... or that Anders fucking hates him… either way, at least it would be an answer to a question he’s been asking for a decade and a half. He can’t _stand_ the unfinished quality of their breakup; he never could.

 

* * *

**15 Years Ago**

Alistair wakes up in the middle of the night. Something woke him up, but he isn’t sure what. He rolls onto his left side and reaches out blindly in the dark, expecting to find Anders’ smooth skin and soft hair next to him, but he doesn’t—the bed is empty.

“Computer, turn bedroom lights on,” he says.

He blinks into the suddenly bright bedroom and, to his horror, realizes things have changed since they went to bed. A few of Anders’ clothes are gone; so are datapads he leaves on his nightstand. His toothbrush _is_ in the bathroom, but his shoes aren’t in the hall closet. He’s gone.

Alistair is about to start frantically calling everyone they know when he notices a datapad blinking on the kitchen counter. Before he even starts to read it, he feels his face flush. The first line is enough to bring him to his knees:

_By the time you read this I will be gone. I can’t explain where I’m going, but I’m sure you already know why._

There isn’t much more, only a few warnings about not trying to find him, which Alistair plans to ignore immediately. There is no mention of the relationship they’ve built or the life they were planning—no mention of love.

           

...and all at once, Alistair knows, this chapter of his life—this perfect expanse of time—is over. The next day, he begins studying for his officers’ exam and he never looks back.

 

* * *

**Presently**

“Did you ever consider telling me where you were?” asks Alistair suddenly. He turns over so he’s looking at Anders’ back. It’s so familiar he could weep.

“No,” answers Anders flatly. “That would have been incredibly dangerous and stupid.”

Alistair feels his chest deflate.

“...for you,” adds Anders. He rolls onto his back and turns his head so they can make eye contact. “It would have been dangerous and stupid _for you_.”

“What?”

“Come on, Al… you know they would never have left you alone about me… even without knowing a damn thing they’ve had you _hunting_ me all this time…” says Anders. He rolls his eyes, but Alistair doesn’t think he’s annoyed. “Can you imagine how much more persistent they would have been if there was even a hint you knew more?”

Alistair nods, considering. They stare at each other silently.

“I was scared you were dead,” says Alistair.

Anders’ eyes widen slightly. He turns all the way over so they’re face to face. “When?”

“The whole time… especially this last year, though… after…” Alistair doesn’t want to say what he’s thinking: ‘after you blew up that registration building,’ so he lets the sentence trail off, but he knows Anders understands his meaning anyway.

Anders smiles, but it looks sad. “Some days, I thought I _was_ dead.” He tucks his forearm under his neck and manages to shrug. “...some days, I _wished_ I was.”

Alistair shakes his head. “ _I_ never did.”

Anders purses his lips together. They’re at some kind of invisible barrier. Alistair can’t see its boundaries but he can _feel_ them. He knows that if he pushes just one ounce harder, the whole thing will explode around them and he’ll never get another chance to ask what he’s been needing to all these years. ...so he doesn’t say anything else, even though he’s screaming inside.

“Get some sleep, Al.” Anders turns back over, the spell apparently broken, but the sound of his words from a moment ago still hanging in the air.

“Anders?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really sorry we crashed, but I’m not sorry to see you again,” says Alistair. And although it’s unlikely—although it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s said in years—it’s _true_.

 

The next few days are spent in relative silence. They travel all day though underbrush and shallow rivers. It’s incredibly hot when the sun is up and everything turns icy cold as soon as it sets. If Alistair didn’t already hate this assignment, he would hate it now. Except, occasionally, he starts to see hints of the Anders he once knew bleeding through the cracks and, in the least likely of circumstances, that’s starting to feel worth it.

 

“All right, Al,” says Anders on the fourth night. “I’m going to freeze to death if you don’t get that tent sorted…”

“It would go faster if you helped me,” says Alistair. He smiles over his shoulder in time to see Anders frown.

“I think you’re overestimating my ability to build things… I’m a doctor, not an engineer,” says Anders. Nevertheless, he kneels next to Alistair and pulls on the tent material so Alistair can stake it.

Alistair laughs. “I haven’t thought about you doctoring in a long time…”

“Really?” asks Anders. “That’s what I’ve been doing all these years, actually… real frontier medicine, just like I always claimed to want…”

Alistair feels his face change in confusion.

“What?”

“I just… never thought of the underground as needing doctors…” admits Alistair.

Anders’ eyes widen. “Al… most of ‘ _the underground_ ,’ as you so lovingly call it, are poor people… children, even. Of _course_ they need doctors… more than the rest of us do.”

Alistair nods, but he feels a knot in his stomach. He hates discovering he’s been an asshole in retrospect. Before he can say anything else, though, the sky opens up. Rain pelts them from every direction suddenly.

“God, what is _with_ this planet?” says Anders. He pulls on the last of the tent’s fasteners and shouts over the noise, “Come on, get inside.”

Inside the tent, Alistair tries to get the excess water out of his eyes. He’s soaked, but Anders looks even worse—like someone tried to drown him.

“You better take those off,” says Alistair. He points vaguely to Anders’ clothes, but he doesn’t know which ones he means; they’re all soaked.

“Bossy…”

Alistair laughs, despite himself. “Yeah… I thought you used to like that.”

Anders smiles, but it only lasts a second. The air between them seems to solidify—that barrier is back.

Alistair turns away and pulls his shirt off over his head. He grabs one of their blankets and throws it at Anders, who he can see is undressing peripherally. He pulls the other one around his own shoulders. Luckily, they weren’t outside long enough that his underwear got wet… they’re salvageable.

“Put this other thing over us,” says Alistair. He pulls a metallic sheet over their legs collectively as he slides up next to Anders. “...so we don’t freeze to death.”

Anders nods and tries to make it work, but with the usual amount of space between them—a foot or two—it’s impossible. He huffs frustratedly, but slides closer—until they almost touch. “Okay?”

Alistair nods. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

They lie in silence for a while. Alistair feels every heartbeat. Eventually, he can’t take it; he starts talking just to fill the void. “So… when we arrive… at the base or whatever. What is the plan?” he asks.

Anders looks over at him. “I thought you were the planner here… didn’t you get some orders about that?”

“No,” admits Alistair. “Just to take you here and unlock something… it has to do with your A.I., I assume.”

Anders gasps. “ _That’s_ what they want?”

Alistair nods.

“Fucking shit…” Anders sits up, suddenly. It lets all the warm air they’ve collected escape and Alistair shivers. “I almost believed that since they sent _you_ they wanted some kind of peaceful resolution… I should have fucking known.”

Alistair sits up. Without thinking, he puts a hand on Anders’ back. That turns out to be the _wrong_ decision.

“Don’t touch me,” snaps Anders.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” says Alistair. He folds his arms across his chest. He suddenly feels _very_ vulnerable. “But Anders… what is it?”

“They want me to unlock the codes…” he says quietly. “Here, on this stupid fucking jungle planet… the underground houses its database—they know the whereabouts of every prominent operative, contact, and safe house.” He taps his temple absently. “The A.I. I have is the key to accessing the information… it’s a safeguard against tampering, actually. If the base here is compromised, a failsafe automatically uploads all the data into my head...but I have to be within a certain range in order for the transfer to work.”

“So they’re going to purposely blow the whole place up to get the information to transfer?” asks Alistair, already knowing the answer. “And _then_ what? Torture you until you give it up?”

Anders shrugs. “Or try to get it surgically, I guess…” He closes his eyes. “I would ask you to get me out of this, but I already know where your loyalties lie.”

 _What?_ Alistair would be offended if he wasn’t so surprised. He crawls forward until he’s right in front of Anders and grips both sides of his face. For reasons unknown, Anders doesn’t shake him off or even blink. “Anders, I’m not going to let anyone _torture_ you.” He leans in closer and waits for Anders to open his eyes. “Listen to me, Anders. If I’d known what they were going to do I never would have agreed to this… never.”

Anders shrugs miserably. “Why not? You agreed once before…”

 

* * *

**15 Years Ago**

“I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Al,” shouts Anders.

They’ve been fighting for days, but this is the worst one yet. Alistair is exhausted.

“Why not, Andy?” yells Alistair. “I’m on track to become an Officer if I play my cards right… this assignment could be a big deal for me.”

“Because I thought you had principles…” says Anders haughtily. “I didn’t think you’d be a party to taking children away from their families!”

“I’m not doing that,” argues Alistair. “The registration bill just encourages those people to come forward… so we can help them!”

“Those people?” yells Anders. His face turns dark. “Don’t you mean _me_?”

“No, Andy… of course not…” Alistair wipes a palm across his face. “You’re a doctor… you’re… you’re already fine…”

“Oh, so if I wasn’t educated like this I wouldn’t be safe, though?” Anders sneers. “Fuck you, Al… I’m going out.”

He starts to walk toward the door, but Alistair gets in front of him in the middle of the kitchen.

“Don’t leave!” he says. “This is ridiculous. How did we get here?”

Anders just shakes his head. “Because people like you let it happen… first with your inaction, now with blatant lies about the nature of this mandate.”

Alistair shakes his head, but Anders won’t let him interrupt.

“I’m not going to stand by while this happens, Al. You can follow me if you want, but you won’t like where I go,” he says.

Alistair doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He just steps aside and watches Anders leave.

 

* * *

**Presently**

“I should have supported you,” says Alistair suddenly. His hands are still on Anders’ cheeks, but they drift toward his collarbones as he talks. He finds his fingers making circles on the skin. “I should have done… _so_ many things differently.”

Anders swallows and nods, but he doesn’t look sure.

“Andy… I…” Alistair’s voice catches in his throat. While he’s trying to collect himself, Anders’ face changes.

“You haven’t called me that since we were young,” says Anders.

Alistair smiles tentatively.

“I missed it,” admits Anders. He shrugs against the weight of Alistair’s hands.

“I missed all of this,” says Alistair. “I missed _you_.”

Anders’ lips part like he’s going to say something else, but when he doesn’t, Alistair knows it’s now or never. He closes the gap and kisses him. It’s gentle, like something that only happens in fiction, and it seems to stretch on and on. When they finally separate, he doesn’t go far—just a breath away.

“I missed you too,” whispers Anders.

 

In the morning, Alistair forgets where he is for a minute. He blinks into a haze of Anders’ hair and breathes in the scent of his skin. Even when he remembers they’re in a tent, stranded on a potentially hostile world, he doesn’t really care. He’s with Anders… after all this time.

“Good morning,” groans Anders. His mouth is sort of smashed against Alistair’s chest, so he sounds funny, but it’s the best thing Alistair thinks he’s heard in years.

“I love you,” says Alistair. They’ve said it a hundred times in the last eight hours, but he means it.

“Love you too.” Anders leans in and kisses Alistair’s cheek. “We have to get going… I think we’re going to make it to the base today.”

Alistair squints. “We’re still going there?”

“Well, what else do you propose we do?”

Alistair doesn’t have a good answer for that. He just wants to stay _right here_ for the rest of forever… but… clearly, that’s not a plan so much as sign of avoidance.

“I don’t know…” he admits. “But, Andy… I won’t let anyone hurt you… or… or the people you care about.” Alistair takes a deep breath. “I know now… that’s where I went wrong before. I would never have let anyone hurt _you_ , but I didn’t see the bigger picture. I didn’t see that turning a blind eye to them meant hurting you in an insidious way.”

Anders shakes his head and brushes his fingers along Alistair’s jaw.

“No… I know it’s true…” adds Alistair. “I can admit that now.”

They sigh together.

“So, Andy… how can I help you?”

 

* * *

* * *

 

**2 Years Later**

“Sweetie, your segment is on!” calls Anders. He’s still under the covers, but he’s sitting up and gesturing to the screen wildly when Alistair comes in.

“Oh god… I look so old,” complains Alistair. He pulls the covers back and slides in next to Anders.

“Shhh. I don’t want to miss it,” says Anders.

“Why? You were there…” Alistair laughs. “You already know what I said.”

“Shh. This is your moment, _Admiral_.”

‘ _This is a big day for all of us. This is the day we say ‘enough’ to tyranny._ ’

Alistair watches himself on the screen with almost as much nervousness as he had this afternoon. They finally did it: changed something for everyone. After the coup on Vyrantium, those in power who were corrupt were finally exposed and the truth about registration came out. It took time, but people like Anders were finally free to come out of hiding. Changing public opinion took longer—people were still scared and weren’t sure whom to trust—but with Alistair and his crew overseeing the operation, social evolution followed.

Now, two years later, Anders is researching and teaching at the Academy. Alistair is overseeing inclusion efforts in the entire quadrant. And, most importantly, they’re sleeping in in the same bed, in an apartment not so unlike the one they used to share... and they’re free to go anywhere and do anything… and Alistair likes all of it, because they’re together.

“I can’t believe this,” says Anders. He wraps his arms around Alistair’s chest and pushes him backward against their pillows. “People like me are finally going to have a chance…”

Alistair shakes his head. “People like _us_.”

* * *

 


End file.
